Freeway

Freeway

Driving down the freeway, not by choice. I was the driver for someone who had a special class in the city for the next two weeks. The someone was related to me and, unfortunately (or maybe not...) not old enough yet to drive. For two weeks, I was his designated driver. I had to drive to the city and back, twice a day, on the freeway.

I usually never drive on the freeway. When I was younger, I tried it, I didn’t like it. Crazy drivers! Big trucks! Speedy people who thought I was going too slow, weaving in and out around me giving me dirty looks! I decided then and there I’d rather take the long way around. I was never in that much of a hurry anyway.

But here I was. My teenager, my only son, had to be at this special class that he qualified for, out of hundreds of applicants, at eight am. I was his only hope of getting there. I had to do the freeway, two weeks, twice a day. The long way took over an hour longer, that was way too much even for me.

As I sped along in the middle lane (my favorite, fast lane cars can get by me, and the trucks can sneak past in the slow lane, if they wanted) this huge white car came up behind me. Too close, tailgating.

My first thought was to move over and let him pass. But then, four days into “Freeway Me” I suddenly thought, “What is your problem?” and I hunkered down. I was doing nothing wrong, I was doing the speed limit, I was determined. I was not going to move. It took him four whole miles to give up and pass me.

It made my day.